While not born here, I consider myself a California girl. I'm used to the laid back, mellow way we Los Angelenos go about our lives. Until El Presidente comes into town. Again.
Like the hysterics I went through the last time (last month) he visited wasn't enough. And that was when only one major thoroughfare was closed with almost no impact on me at all. This time, Obama was in my own backyard, and for me, and thousands of others, getting home was a nightmare.
Okay, it wasn't a real nightmare, just a colossal pain in the butt. Just yesterday, Obama came to Hancock Park, a fairly well-to-do neighborhood just a few blocks from my home. If my husband hadn't texted me in the morning to beware, I would never have known. Until I got to my bus stop, that is.
So I chose to be safer than sorrier but ended up with a long wait anyway. But at least on the corner of Hollywood and Highland, there's plenty of entertainment, intentional or not.
By far the best of the best was the rasta drummer on commercial size Kikkoman containers (empty that is) and the rhythm, a sure headache causer, certainly helped make the time appear to pass faster. Then three black girls, one more plump than the other, began to dance and they were terrific. Really agile for their weight and we couldn't help but clap for them, although in the back of my mind I was thinking what a great time for a pickpocket.
When the allegedly detoured bus showed up (30 minutes later), it was packed, and continued to get even more packed until it was suffocating. The driver kept announcing that the bus would detour at 3rd Street, and then the panic began. Although my Spanish isn't what it should be, I could understand the frantic attempts by passengers to figure out another way home.
All the streets around my house were mobbed with cars similarly detoured. I sure hope Obama got what he wanted ($), because the rest of us did not - a little peace and quiet after a long day.